


A Midsummer Night’s Weekend

by Lynn_StarDragon



Category: TF2 - Fandom, Team Fortress 2
Genre: Crack, Humor, Multi, Slice of Life, for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynn_StarDragon/pseuds/Lynn_StarDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some of the things one BLU team's Sniper gets up to on weekends. A silly little 'day in the life' story with a twist ending.</p>
<p>Originally posted on the chan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Midsummer Night’s Weekend

**Author's Note:**

> Have some old fic, beta'd forever ago by Vihtalaini. I think.
> 
> Cross posted on [tumblr](http://headshotsforblu.tumblr.com/post/30677366920/a-midsummer-nights-weekend-aka-sniper-learns-a) and at TF2chan.

 

A Midsummer Night’s Weekend

(aka Sniper learns a lesson)

\----------------------------------------------

The first thing to assault his senses was the shrill sound of his official BLU company alarm clock alerting him to the inevitable: He’d regained consciousness. With a huff, and a few protesting muscles, the lanky man rolled onto his side and swatted in the device’s general direction. Judging from the lack of sound which followed, he took it as a small victory and rolled again onto his back. 

He scrubbed at his face with both hands, stubble only just biting into his palms. Contemplating the effort of shaving, the Australian native decided one day off it wouldn’t be so bad, or it could at least wait until after his first cup of coffee. His eyes were still a little bleary from sleeping and blinking them wasn’t bringing them into full focus. It was still enough for him to see something that made him frown: He was out of his normal blend. 

Sniper growled softly to himself as he’d have to actually leave the comfort of his loft, his own little corner of the base which only Spy had the right to visit when he wasn’t here (or when he was here), to get what he needed to be human again. While he could always apologize later for being snappish to his teammates it was bad form to take his mood out on them. 

Except the Scout. Scouts usually needed sense beaten into them every-which-way. 

“May as well get on wit’ it.” He cast about for a suitably clean pair of trousers, as the boxers he’d slept in were still relatively clean, and slipped them on with another tired grumble. 

 * * * * 

Shirtless and shoeless, and armed only with his aviators against the fiend known as ‘Natural Sunlight’, the scruffy Sniper padded into the team’s kitchen. To his joy the coffee maker was already on, to his disappointment it was brewing _regular_. Was it really worth it for all that extra caffeine when he could honestly just run out to a grocer or conveniance store after the day’s battles were done? Given the dull throb of his temples, non-decaf coffee might not have been his best option at the moment. Right, he’d re-hydrate now and get his decaf later. 

“You look like you had a rough weekend, mon ami.” Spy folded down the morning newspaper he was reading, currently seated at the rounded breakfast table where he could keep his eye on the door yet not be visible to others before they entered the room, revealing that he already had (a self-made) breakfast before him.   

The brunet waved to his masked friend in greeting and to ward off the comment. “Not’in’ of the sort, mate.” Padding across the room he added, “Was a grand time for all.” Inside the refrigerator was packed with sugar drinks and other things Sniper was sure would turn his empty stomach. He scowled, irrationally blaming the cold box for such transgressions, before spotting the orange juice on the top shelf. Low acid, no pulp. He could work with that.  

Problem solved, he pulled down one of his extra mugs from the cupboards to fill. 

“Then what has you in such a state?” The other occupant in the room prompted. 

Looking over his shoulder the lanky gunner shrugged. “Got in late from a party is all. Payin’ the price for it, y’ah, but I’ve ‘ad worse. Juss a touch dehydrated I’d reckon, given me poundin’ head. This’ll put me right an’ then I’ll be my normal charmin’ self.” With a bit of a chuckle he put the bottle away then took his first sip of relief. 

“Well, no.” He reconsidered, turning to face the Spy and leaning back against the counter, crossing his legs in a comfortable manner. “The party was on Saturday, but we spent Sunday recoverin’ from that before runnin’ ah few last minute errands while she had access to me ‘n’ me van.” 

A pause from the Spy. “She?” 

“Yeah, met up with the Doc’s wife.” 

The frenchmen blinked. “The Doctor’s . . . wife? The woman who arguably does not exist, as every time we’ve insisted she come up for ‘family weekends’ the good Doctor insists that it is the worst possible idea for our own 'preserved sanity'? Or the fact that when we have asked after her, he again insists that we would never, ever, believe any of the things he would tell us?” 

Sniper smirked, “The very same,” before taking another sip of his juice. 

He was answered with a scoff. 

“Oi, the Misses is a proper lady and a true pleasure ta be around. You’d like ‘er if she ever did come up ‘ere.” Which, for the sake of the team’s sanity, he prayed she did not, or that he had warning to leave before she arrived. (But he had a sneaking suspicion something would ‘mysteriously happen’ to his camper if he tried... ) 

“And the good Doctor just trusted her to your care?” Spy retorted in disbelief. 

“On account ah us meetin’ prior? Yes. ‘Sides, I’m a gentlemanly sort who’d never make any unta-ward a’vances. Doc was outta town at a synposseum, ‘n’ the Misses likes company about her at all times.” 

“Oh?” A spark of interest flashed in sky blue eyes, the covert man grinning a little wider. 

“Yeah.” Sniper took another sip of the juice, realizing that maybe he didn’t want the conversation to go down this path. 

From the look of things, Spy realized he wouldn’t say more on the subject and his cavalier attitude dropped back to the subdued. “As long as you didn’t leave a bloody mess in your wake, and had a good time while at it, then I’m happy for you.” With that he flipped the newspaper back open and seemed to be reading again. 

Taking that as his chance to leave, the brunet grabbed his mug before heading towards the archway leading out.

“Oh, mon ami?” Sniper paused. “Exactly what kind of party did you attend with another man’s wife?”

At that the hunter did laugh, looking over his shoulder at his prowling friend. Maybe a bit of the truth wouldn’t hurt? “A costume party, mate. Don’t know what all for but I did learn one thing. . .” 

He turned to face outwards again. “Me body was made for corsets.” With a triumphant smirk he padded out, leaving the Spy sputtering over his morning editorials. 

 * * * * 

Speaking with their resident espionage agent did make him realize one thing, he needed to see the Medic and give him a heads-up about all that had happened. It wasn’t that the weekend had ended on a sour note between the two of them, but perhaps their antics would put a smile on the man’s face, and it was only proper to see how the man in question was doing or if he’d even had the chance to chat with the Misses about their grand adventures. 

So the marksman padded on through the halls of BLU’s base of operations. Spy hadn’t run out after him and he was free to go at his own pace as the orange juice was waking him up slightly and his headache was almost gone. He made a note that perhaps it had just been because they’d run all over creation that he was lacking in liquids, but if this happened every weekend out he’d have to invest in the least disgusting energy drink he could find and probably mix it with orange juice to combat muscle craps. 

Or maybe he’d just ask Medic how he kept up with her. 

“Yo, Hair-Trigger! ‘Sup?” 

Sniper masterfully resisted the urge to murder the boy where he stood. Trust the Scout to get his headache flaring again. “Nothin’ Dust-Cloud. Juss headin’ ta the med-bay ta see how Doc’s doin’.” 

The Brooklynite guffawed at that, nudging his taller teammate as the brunet passed. “Partied too hard? Dat’s what you get Old Man. Leave da clubbing to professionals and you can have yer ‘Bush’.” 

“More ‘bush’ than you’ve ever had, wanker.” Sniper muttered under his breath. 

“What was dat?” Scout gave him a petulant look as if daring him to say something unpleasant. 

Schooling his features into a pleasant smile and shoving down his usual reaction, the scruffy brunet said, “I’ll have yew know that I spent half me weekend in the bed of ah lovely woman, with me face in her tits for most of that time.” That was sure to shut him up. 

“What!? No way! Everyone knows you go off ‘nta da wilds of Death-stralia, an’ get off on killing ‘Crocks an’ snakes, an’ eat koala meat an’, an’, like, jerking off ta rocks!” 

Sniper growled, bearing his teeth. “Oi, yeah, you got me. I really did go out ta da OutBack, and wanked off on a rock. You bloody lil--” 

“So ya admit it!” The brown-haired speed daemon crowed. 

“What?! No! You sodding little shit,” his right hand reached for his absent Kukri or a handy Jarate, but came up empty. The misstep left him growling at the Scout as he danced away, likely off to the kitchen or to find some of the other teammates to tell. 

Sniper seethed. “Next time, I’ll make a real ‘piss-ant’ outta ya.” With that, he took a long drought from his mug and turned again towards the clinic. 

He didn’t have to amble far before hearing the usual military cadence signaling that the one-man-wrecking-crew known as Soldier was jogging down the hall, and from the scottish expletives punctuating every third beat it sounded as if their resident Demolition expert wasn’t drunk enough to be awake yet. 

Sniper put his back to the wall of the corridor, so the American menace could steamroll by. 

“Company HALT! Riiiiiiiiight house!” 

Or not. 

“Ac’h, ye sun-blasted, helmeted--Give ah man sum WARR’in’ bafore yew do that!” The Demoman grumbled something incomprehensible before pulling out his trusty scrumpy bottle and taking a long swig. 

“A true hero is ready for anything. Sudden stops, laser hatted sharks, or even having to eat boiling soup with a bear’s hands.” Soldier nodded. “It builds character.” 

‘The bear pro’lly doesn’t much care fer it.’ The gunner thought to himself but choose to keep quiet. “Den it seem you men ‘ave an in-tress’in’ day aheaddaya.” 

“Naught ha’f as interres’in’ as tha last few.” Demo laughed before nudging Soldier with his elbow as the other man smiled and nodded in agreement. 

“So ya both went to the missile range again?” Sniper asked before taking another sip of his juice. 

“That’s a negatory. We had a real man’s weekend of fishing. I brought the beer and he brought the dynamite.” According to the Engineer, this was a thing in America. It still sounded easier to just shoot them, and seemed less messy. 

“Di’nn’a have much in tha way a fish left t’a bring bac’k.” The Scot admitted. “‘N tha ‘beer’ was like weak pish.” 

“Better to drink all American piss than some fruity-phoofy-German-engineered-commie-brewed swill.” The army major harrumphed, folding his arms. 

Sensing they needed to change topics the lone gunman opened his mouth to say something but was beaten to the punch. “Oy, what all did ya do this wee-kin’d?” 

“Ah, was out with the Doc’s wife. Right nice Madam that one.” The Aussie male smiled at the double entendre. 

Demo blinked, his dark brown eye going comically wide while Soldier’s mouth parted in a shocked but silent, ‘Oh’. “Tha Doc’tah’s--,” he looked around the hall they were in before stepping closer. “Ye di’nn’a mean she’s like da RED Medic’s--” 

“No.” Sniper’s icy blue eyes narrowed in a hard glare, but after a moment he sighed and relaxed. “Sorry, mates. The Doc talks wit’ her off the clock. They have ‘emselves one of those ‘open communications’ marriages. It’s a sore spot fer her.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure what to make of it, but from what I see she has not’in’ but contempt fer that pair of mongrels. Believe you me, our lot are not like those REDs.” 

The other men nodded at that. 

“Still, she’s a good woman, beautiful heart, an’ a master of baking.” He continued. “Had me eating stuff that, before I wouldn’t give to a dyin’ man. But when she prepared it? It was like a whole new dish. An’ she’s a wonderful conversationalis’ wit’ a brilliant personality. The things I learned this weekend...” Granted he learned a few things about the Doctor he could have done without, but it put the other man in perspective. 

“‘Brill-ent Personaleteh’ ye say?” The cyclops smirked. “How ‘brill-ent’ ye mean?” One eyebrow waggled lecherously. 

“Enough ta make ya forget her bust-line.” The brunet smirked right back taking another sip of his juice. 

“Oh-oh! Dat small, is she?” The pair of them laughed. 

“It’s to be expected of a man passed his prime. The krout might know his way around an infirmary, but it takes something even Sun Tzu couldn’t master in his lifetime to deal with women.” 

Sniper pondered his options for a moment, considering if he wanted to correct their impression of the situation or not. On the one hand he didn’t want to talk about an upstanding lady in such crass terms. On the other hand it wasn’t like the information was top secret and, really, if they ever met her they would see the truth for themselves. Well, he could compromise and just not give them the full measurements. 

“Nah, she’s a natural ‘D’.” The laughter stopped as he took another drink. Looking up, he could see his teammates just staring at him again, like there was a Spy sneaking up behind him. “’S’true, come fer the tits, stay fer the conversations. But her beauty ain’t all on her chest. She’s a fine sight to see. Younger than the Doc, I think.” He scratched his chin with his free hand, trying to remember if age had managed to come up in the conversations. 

“Does she ‘ave ah sista’?” 

“Does she have an American sister?” 

Sniper blinked. “She’s... German, if the accent’s anyt’in’ to go by. Don’t rightly know ‘bout the sister issue.” The focus of the weekend hadn’t be on personal history from either of them. 

“Can’t win them all.” Soldier sighed. “Look son, if you spent all weekend mucking about behind enemy lines--” 

Demo put a hand on the rocketeer’s shoulder, “Look, that war’s o’vah,” he gently chided. 

“--then you might want to hit the showers, before venturing out into the great, wide, battlefield.” But for all signs Soldier hadn’t heard him. “They could have put anything in the water. You might even have micro-bots crawling inside your ears right now.” 

Not wanting the conversation to take a turn for the worse the hunter said the first thing which came to mind. “Ah already took a shower in... American soil.” 

“That’s good thinking, soldier.” He clapped the Australian on his biceps. 

“Yeah... Look mates, Scout’s already in the ‘mess-hall’, an’ Spy kin only distract ‘im for so long. If yas want anyt’in’ to eat, I suggest gettin’ on with it and stop yabberin’ wit’ me.” 

The Scotsman took the cue and started to pull Solider along. “Bess save t’ha laddie from himself, bafore Spy has a fit. Ta!” And with that the pair were moving on without him. 

Sniper gave a small wave, and a smaller smile. The two tended to be good foils for each other and kept the base an exciting place to live on during the weekdays. In truth he liked everyone on the team well enough. Even the Pyro had some charm, mostly when pointed at someone, or something, else. 

For now, though, he had a medicine man to see. 

 * * * * * 

The thing about BLU base was, it was an enclosed space. The bases (at least, he guessed the same had to hold for the RED bases) were not the battlefields. They were not the contested areas or gravel pits or attached to the prime lands the brothers had fought over until recently. They were each the home of nine paranoid, highly trained, professional killers. Or eight of those and a hormonal ankle-biter who kept trying to prove he was a full-grown man. One did not hire such a team of people and then not give them a secure place to sleep, unless one wanted bloody murder at all hours of the night. 

(To be sure, each of them had their own homes and their own families, off base. But they only saw them on the weekends. What they did off the clock was their own business, yet they were still secure in doing it.) 

Some parts of BLU base were labyrinthian, with networks of hallways crossing back and forth over each other and spiraling down into underground catacombs and sewer accesses. Other parts were more orderly like a city grid’s worth of housing blocks. It was more than enough room to give each of them their own little territories to bed down in. 

Sniper’s own loft was effectively a third story apartment in the four story warehouse new recruits trained in and could only be accessed after a long, unprotected, climb up a ladder. It was situated the other way from where the fresh meat was supposed to fire live rounds during their ‘tutorials’. Thanks to a few gizmo’s some Engineers had cooked up, if the rookies pointed their guns Sniper’s way, a deadlock would activate, cutting the practice short until they got their heads out of their asses. 

It made for some good comedy over breakfast. One of the stipulations in his contract meant he had to be up early in the morning to prepare for battle but the trainees couldn’t use the warehouse until well after he was up and awake for the day. From his perch it was easy to watch over the little ducklings, as Pyro called them, while they learned which end was out on a rocket-launcher. Spy was the only one he’d ever offered an invitation up to watch with him, and on slow days the men had sat up there, sharing some fags and a few drinks while commenting on what the new talent could do to improve and which ones they suspected would make the cut to join the company, or where they might even be shipped out to. 

As such Sniper wasn’t too sure where any of his teammates roomed in the wide world of their base. He suspected Spy just slept in the shadows or maybe had some Spy-fu mind tricks to keep his bedroom hidden from sight. He figured Solider had his own bunker, much like their demolition man though the Scot probably didn’t sleep in his. Scout he didn’t care to think about, but wouldn’t have been surprised to find it a dorm-room. The Heavy he knew stuck close to the firing range, the one only full members of the team could use. He liked to run calibrations with blanks before long battles to make sure his guns were in order. Sniper could respect that, and did the same from time to time, which was how he’d even found out about the Russian’s habits. He knew the Medic didn’t live in his infirmary, but he’d never seen the man actually leave it for anything other than meals and battles or to go home. 

That left the Pyro and Engineer. Those two roomed closer to the middle of the base, which was actually along his current route to see the Doctor. Unlike the others, the Pyro tended to move around between different sleeping quarters and only the Engineer could find the firebug after a move. Sniper supposed it paid the company to have more housing than it actually used when dealing with arsonists who were just as likely to sleep as set their bed alight. As far as he could guess, the Texan’s room was actually static and guarded by several mini-sentries, along with a few cameras that might have been able to fire tranquilizing darts, and possibly a teleportation trap...and more guns. 

At least that’s what it looked like as he approached it. Seeing as he was in a better mood than when he woke, he thought it might be nice to, carefully, poke his head in and wish the southerner a good morning. The door was open after all, which usually meant he was willing to receive visitors 

“Mornin’ lad... s.” His hand drooped slightly mid-wave. 

The Engineer was indeed sitting at a round dinning table, with a steaming bowl of something, and a tall steaming mug of something else at his elbow. His helmet was off, his goggles were on his forehead, and he looked up with a smile, waving the scruffy hunter in. 

Seated across the table, however, was the Pyro. They had their mask pushed up far enough to let them eat and drink without interference. From what the brunet could see it was some kind of mostly rainbow colored marshmallow packed cereal, being washed down with chocolate milk. Considering he hadn’t seen any flavored milk in the main kitchen he suspected Engie had his own mini-fridge too. 

“Mornin’ cornstalk. You don’t swing by these parts too often. Wadda we owe the pleasure to?” The builder motioned to the empty chair at the table. Unfortunately, the back of it faced the door, and even with all the guns covering him the idea still set the Sniper’s teeth on edge. 

“Off to see the Doc so we can trade stories ‘bout our weekends.” He politely declined the seat with bow of his sleep-tussled head and sidestepped to have his back to the wall, right inside the room with his left hand (the one holding the mug) to the door, and leaned back casually with a put on smile. 

Pyro hummed in acknowledgment and went back to eating their sugar coated sugar. 

“Heard the Doc was out rubbin’ elbows with some medical bigwigs. Not sumthin’ I thought you’d have an interest in. Usually speakin’.” He drawled sitting back slightly in his chair. 

“Usually, no, but I was out ‘n’ about with Misses Doctor this weekend. He asked me ta keep her company while he was away.” 

Pyro paused, mid-bite, and turned back towards the lanky Australian with what might have been a surprised look on their face. 

The Texan, however, looked a little ruffled and fixed him with an appraising look. Sniper didn’t miss the slow fire of anger beginning to burn in those cornflower blue eyes. “Ya wanna explain yerself there, son? I know them Europeans do things a bit different than most folk but I didn’t take ya for a home-wrecker.” 

“Oi, it wass’in’t like that! I wass me usual gentlemanly self, and she was ah proper Lady! She just gets lonesome bein’ in the house by herself is all, an’ I wass helpin’ ah mate out!” He scrubbed at his face again. “Can’t ah man juss be friendly with ah woman, take her out on da town, run her fer ah few errands what need doin’, and all around enjoy ‘er company without it turning--er... intimate?” He tried to reign himself in around the Pyro, not knowing if he was in the presence of a woman or not or even how old they were. 

The fire starter actually gave a smile at that. “So,” they spoke softly, in that strangely androgynous voice that was too deep to be totally female and too high to be an adult male, if even male, “did you have fun then?” 

“Loads.” Sniper answered, watching as the other man in the room relaxed and regained his composure. 

“Sorry. I jus’--” 

“No worries, mate. ‘Da done the same, iffin’ I didn’t know what was what.” He respected that his rustic teammate was big on family values and was raised to treat women with respect. To the technician, every woman was a lady until proven otherwise, and he’d beat any of the mercenaries with a wrench if they spoke inappropriately in front of them. It was the same in the case of young children too. And he did tend to glare at them more when Pyro was around... 

“You’re thinking.” The arson in question spoke up. “Are you remembering?” 

Sniper tried not to be visibly creeped out that the freak seemed to have read his mind. Again. “Of this weekend? I don’t think I’ll rightly forget it anytime soon.” 

“Mm-mnn.” They shook their head. “It’s something else.” 

“Hey,” the American cut in, saving the brunet from an awkward reaction, “How’dya meet the li’l lady anyway? Can’t say I’d figure the Doc ta leave her in any of our hands for an hour, let alone two days.” 

“Two ‘n’ a half, mate, I got in Friday evenin’.” He took a sip at the low whistle, silently thanking his industrial friend. “’S a long story, if ya got the time.” When neither of the others objected, he took a breath. 

“Seems like a few years ago, at this point. Might not ‘ave been so long, might ‘ave been longer. Still, it was at a convention ah sorts. Ya know them antiquating shows what travel around? This one was bigger, more orderly like it wass a permanent fixture of the place. See, I was there looking at old guns and had my eyes on a few different beauties, but before I was willin’ ta commit I took me a stroll over to see some of the knives. I ran into the Misses along the way there. Seems she was interested in medical para-finnalia and was making her way to the surgical implements. Unlike some of the other galleries, those two rooms were connected by ah third room for miscellaneous blades. My thoughts ‘re that back in the day, some blades doubled as surgical tools in a pinch.” He chuckled then, some of the minor details coming back to vivid life. 

“We were two of around ten international shoppers there that I'd seen, ‘n’ she was one of the few womanly folk not from ‘round your way, Truckie. So w’en we ran into each other, with such distinct interests we got to talkin’. Occupations happened to come up but I didn’t tell her much. Then with her sayin’ she was married to a field surgeon and no wars bein’ on but the one we was fightin’, I asked if she knew Redmond. If she’d said yes, I wouldda had to cut our time short. As yas kin likely guess she said no an then she asked if I worked for Blutarch, which I said I did.” Sniper paused for another sip to wet his parched throat, before speaking up again. 

“Wit’ the Doc tellin’ tales outta work, she sussed out who I was right quick, and introduced herself as our Medic’s wife. We spent the rest of the day just wanderin’ the stalls commenting about the wears, and making polite conversation. I wasn’t ever able to visit her, but I kept in touch when I could. Since then I’ve made it ah point to send the Doc home to her with my regards.” Which was why, he guessed, the good Doctor had turned to him when his usual plans had fallen through for keeping his wife company while he was away. 

“Does that mean she’ll come visit next family weekend?” There was a hopeful note in Pyro’s voice. 

Sniper shrugged, not wanting to crush their hopes. It wasn’t the lady’s idea not to visit here after all. Medic was adamant in keeping her from the team as long as humanly possible. He found himself willing to help the German in that endeavor, now that he knew some of what she was capable of. Really, it was for the team’s own good. 

Pyro pouted anyway as the Engineer chuckled. “So, what’all didya do this weekend?” He reached for his slightly cooled drink. Coffee from the smell of it. 

“Well, fer part of it, I wrestled a dog fer blankets.” He chuckled. “The Doc has his birds, and the Misses adopts abused animals to make them used to livin’ in good homes again. Problem is, she fergets ta adopt them out ta new homes, so she has a small army ah dogs at the house. ‘N’ they’re all trained ta her.” They had a ‘beware of dogs’ sign out front. But sometimes it wasn’t as effective as seeing the beasts, which could be lovingly docile lapdogs one moment, turn into barking, snapping, hell hounds. 

“For another thing she’s ah talent for making everythin’ taste better than it rightly should. She had me eating rabbit food--all leafy ‘n’ green--’n’ it didn’t taste like, er, well ‘greens’.” He shrugged. “Also, turns out they kin make bacon outta cows now.” 

Engie laughed at that. “I couldda told you that, son. Heck, they can make sausage outta turkeys last I looked. Still, neither have a shine on my homemade jerky.” 

“I’ll see ya yer jerky, ‘n’ raise ya mine.” 

“Deal. I’ll smoke up some venison, next time huntin’ season rolls around.” He turned to pull out a computer tablet, most likely to mark down a reminder. “How spicy ya like it?” 

“I’ll leave it up ta the chef. Though, I’dda thought it’d be bear-meat.” From the way Solider talked, bears were apparently the natural predator of all Americans and would have overrun the countryside, eating babies, stealing all of their jobs, and applying for welfare, if left unchecked. 

“Nah, gotta save sumethin’ special for the Holidays.” The Texan smiled up at him again. “Wha’all you plan to bring?” 

“Well,” the Australian rubbed at his chin, “gotta few different beasties not native to yer part of the world. Long as they aren’t endangered, protected, or considered pets, I can bag you anything ya can name from there.” 

“Then surprise me. I’m sure it’ll be ‘unique’ whatever it is. So, aside from wrasslen’ with dogs, an’ eatin’ healthy like, anything exciting happen?” 

“’Pens on w’atcha think’s excitin’. The big thing of the weekend was a dress-up party on Saturday. She went out as one of them enchantress types--the kind that you don’t know yer in trouble ‘till after she’s got ya under her spell. She made me up like--well, don’t matter none what I was supposed ta be.” While he didn’t mind Spy knowing about his minor cross-dressing adventure, he wasn’t too keen on letting the others know. Ever. “I was ridiculous but it worked. I had ladies chattin’ me up all night, and a few of the menfolk too. She keeps intelligent company, that one. Didn’t peg anyon’ there fer a merc, but they wasn’t half bad civilians.” 

“They say clothes make the man.” The blue mechanic agreed. 

“To be true. I looked quite dashin’ really. I kept me boots, found a nice kilt--one hundred percent pure black leather and metal, mates; one of them ones what any bloke or sheila could wear--and she pulled out one of ‘er--er, a spare top what fit like a glove. I mean, I don’t know how, but I was comfortable in the getup. Spent the night with some rather fine ladies on me arms, ‘n’ a few in me lap, and none too few charmin’ men were sharin’ stories. Gods, it was aces. I’d do it again anytime.” 

Engineer had his gloved hand over his mouth, looking like he was trying not to laugh. Pyro, however, was openly grinning. 

“I’m happy Sniper got to have fun this weekend. Maybe it wasn’t a real skirt, but it’s nice to try new things, right?” 

The gunman flushed at that and turned away, scratching his head sheepishly. “Don’t think it’ll be a regular thing, but maybe for special occasions with the Misses.” He paused. “She’s got a way of making everythin’ more fun. Even when we was running around the next day trying ta find somethin’ she’d been lookin’ fer. We found it, ‘n’ saved an old woman’s livelihood to boot.” So maybe he had one more rewards card for a company he’d never really frequent, but the teller had reminded him of his own grann and he had a soft spot for family. 

“Okay.” Pyro looked him over (if the slight down to up tilt of their head was anything to go by) one last time. “It’s not surprising, with your figure, that you look good in tight clothing. You might find more things you like, if you keep trying.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, mate.” But he was starting to get a little uncomfortable with Pyro’s soul piercing tendencies and began to cast about for a way to politely exit. 

“Oh, you said you were on yer way to visit the Doc, right? Haven’t seen him come this way yet, so he should still be in the sickbay.” 

A part of him wanted to hug the other man right then. “Right, thanks Truckie. I bes’ be on me way then.” And with a nod to each of them he slipped back through the open door and into the hall. 

 * * * * 

Finally entering the infirmary, Sniper wasn’t all that surprised to see Medic and Heavy sitting together in companionable silence and the Doctor tinkering with one of his magic healing guns. The large Russian was seated beside the desk, currently serving as a workbench, with a worn book in his hands. It was he who looked up and acknowledged the Sniper first, his pale blue eyes lighting up. 

“Comrade Sniper, how are you? Not feeling unwell, I hope?” 

Upon hearing Heavy address another,  Medic paused in his work and glanced over his shoulder with something akin to a knowing smile, giving a brief nod of acknowledgment before returning to his work. 

“No worries here, mate. Just popped by to talk wit’ the Doc ‘bout his wife.” He sauntered closer, mindful of his surroundings. 

The learned weapons expert chuckled. “Ah, so you have met Madam wife! Doktor was saying you had long visit with her. Was good, da?” 

“It was lovely. The things we did ‘n’ talked about,” he turned to the surgeon, “yer a lucky man, Doc.” 

The Medic did not bother to look at him as he replied, but the smile could almost be heard in his voice. “Ja, ja, I’m reminded of this everyday.” 

Now it was the Heavy’s turn to give a knowing smile. “Da! Doctor’s Wife makes best sandviches, no compete.” 

If one had asked Sniper what he thought such an innocent sounding statement meant at this time last week, he honestly would have answered that the woman probably knew how to cook like every man’s mother, and put it between two slices of bread. Now? Well, maybe Heavy did mean just that, but he was fairly certain that wasn’t the only thing he meant. 

“Well, is about time to be getting food for Doctor.” The big man set his book aside, “This one, he forgets to eat. Is very bad habit, dat” before lifting himself out of the equally durable chair. “If you will pardon me friend Sniper?” 

The hunter nodded before stepping out of his largest teammate's way so that he could pass through. He watched the man go wondering how anyone could think the Russian was a dumb brute when he could so keenly pick up on body language and ‘read the room’ at a glance. It made him think of Medic’s Wife and her familiarity with Psychology. Who knew? He’d never asked what the Heavy Weapons Specialist had been before joining their team, but if his reading habits were anything to go by, he’d earned a degree at a University somewhere. 

Putting the thought from his mind, to work over later, the slender male took the last few steps to fill the vacated chair and settled himself down with his mug of orange juice. Well, what was left of the juice. Medic had a full refrigerator in some corner he knew, usually to store organs in, but he had to have had something food like too...Right? 

“Zo, how vas the weekend?” He started pleasantly, still poking at his machine, still not looking up at Sniper. 

Sniper took a deep breath, before setting the mug on the edge of the desk, then let the breath out and slumped further into chair. 

“You were right. I’d ah never believed ya if ya told me.” Medic laughed lightly at that. “She’s everythin’ ya said Doc, and dammit all, you live with her!” 

“Ja, ja.” He repeated, a subtle note of gratitude in his tone. “She vas very happy to have you over und told me all about your misadventures.” 

“Oi,” Sniper grumped, “then why’d ya ask?” 

“Why _exactly_ did you come down here, herr Sniper?” Medic retorted easily, and without malice. 

Finding he couldn’t be angry, the brunet let it go. “Ah... So she liked me, did she?” 

"She vas razzer impressed by your driving, actually. You managed not to kill any of zhe pedestrians, didn’t run through yellow lights, und didn't try to beat ze other cars to an intersection." One of the older man’s hands came up from the delicate innards of his medical equipment to make minor gesticulations as he spoke. "Your shared taste in music vas also a delightful surprise for her, I might add.” 

“Was nothing, really. More like revisi’in’ me youth. ‘E-Rotic’ [1] was big in Australia a while back, but I had no idea all the computer-music the lil’uns listenin’ to taday had their roots in it. Hell, I didn’t know it was considered ‘Euro Dance’ by the Americans. Ya’d think their heads would explode if they played those songs at any’a their clubs?” 

“Probably.” The two of them laughed for a long while at the thought. 

“Ah... it was good. She tell ya we had it blaring from me speakers, windows down, on tha way ta tha party?” He wiped at one eye. 

“Oh, ja, corrupting ze kinder und public at large are one of her hobbies, und I am glad you indulged her in it since I vas unavailable.” He nodded, setting down his tools for the moment. 

“A few ah dem looked ready ta break inta dance. I know if I drive through Sydney, most folk ‘ill do just that; or start dance fightin’, at any rate.” Most of the music had a good beat for both. 

Medic hummed his affirmation before taking off his glasses to clean then. Sniper blinked, considering that the spectacles looked perfectly clean already. “Did she show off ze, ah  . . . ‘basement’, shall we say?” 

The hunter shook his head quickly at that. 

“Good, good, she likes saving zat for later. We try not to scare off ze visitors we like by showing them everything immediately.” The other man smiled enigmatically. 

While he was aware he’d only seen the tip of the iceberg, a part of Sniper wondered if maybe he should run from the duo before he got pulled in too deep, yet he was curious and there were things he still needed to know. The Misses had shown him some things, both private and public, and he found himself wanting to know more about the strangely perfect dynamic the two of them made up. 

Well, three of them, if rumors were to be believed. No time like the present to ask. 

“Doc, I wass just wonderin’.... When Heavy says she makes ‘san’-wh’ich-es’... I mean, well...” Unable to voice the question aloud, he opted for just making a few vague gestures with his hands. 

And damn it all if the Medic wasn’t getting a kick out of all his floundering. “Oh, you poor boy, it seems Britain’s legacy of repression even touched your homeland. Ja we have our, "eccentricities", much more than what most are used to but our rules are clean und simple, und it leaves all parties happy in the end.” 

“I’ll bet.” Sniper whispered, and felt himself flush at the older German chuckling again. “But,” he pressed, in a louder voice, “how do ya all.... That bed is not big enough!” 

Medic actually threw back his head in manic laughter at that. The graying brunet laughing so hard that he ended up doubled over his desk trying to stay upright. 

Sniper crossed his arms, and waited for the moment to pass. 

“Ah~...” The Doctor only shook his head with a maniac smile. “I don’t think you ah ready to know that, just yet. ...So! Something else to think about!” He clapped his hands together, midnight blue eyes bright with anticipation. “Would you be willing to visit again?” 

“Anytime, mate. But, ya aren’t worried about--I mean I wouldn’t, she’s yer--but I was just some bloke to her before Friday, and now,” he let the implication hang. 

The Germanic healer only shook his head with another chuckle. “I know my wife, and while you are a very _nice_ man, you are very much not her type. You said yourself zat you would never touch her. Did you ever think to make ze attempt over the weekend?” 

The lone gunman paused, taking a moment to really think about the question and his feelings on the matter. He was, by trade and by training, a solitary person. Human contact was a foreign language at times, and while he could be passable at social gatherings it was a fifty-fifty shot if he would sink or swim. The strangest things could turn him from a charming conversationalist into the most socially awkward wallflower in the world, and then he’d have to slip away with his tail between his legs. One didn’t need to be a socialite in the outback, and he was used to living like anyone and everyone he met was an enemy waiting to happen or a contract to be carried out at a future date. 

But for the life of him he’d had fun over the last few days and he couldn’t really think up a plan that would work on the lively woman. He could tell there were more stories she’d withheld from him, little secrets he’d be interested in knowing, foods she could make edible, all of it while being her stunning self. Had he originally been completely enamored by her interests in weaponry and large breasts? Indeed. But underneath those mammaries were stunning legs and a full backside, run by a quick and clever mind, just as cunning and ruthless as the man she married. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of her, but looking back Sniper realized that the moment she mentioned she was married all those years ago, she had gone from stunning to untouchable. And when she’d revealed that she was the wife of a teammate she changed again, slowly over time, into someone to be protected for the good of the team. If she was happy, the Doctor was happy. If she was safe, the Doctor could focus on work. 

“Guess yer right, Doc.” He conceded, not unhappy with the realization. 

Medic shrugged. “Happens to ze best of us. Now,” he placed his glasses back on, face growing serious, “I should mention that mein Leibling was impressed with how attentive und reliable you were this weekend. So, I have a proposition for you, if you will. As our original jobs died with Mann brothers, though we now work directly for ‘Mann Co.’, our old contracts are moot leaving us with a convenient legal loophole. Zhe machines we’ve been fighting, while they offer much in the way of rewards, I would think it nice to have at least one source of steady income during these trying times, Ja? My wife, she has a business venture she will be undertaking soon, und needs anozzer at her side whom we can trust.” 

One finely sculpted brown eyebrow arched up at that. “What all would ah need ta do?” 

Medic shrugged, turning his palms up. “V’ut did you find yourself doing this weekend?” 

Well, if it didn’t involve fighting oversized toasters, living bombs, or generally risking his life. ...Honestly they weren’t even fighting to save the world; the bots just wanted controlling interest. “I see yer point. Done.” 

“Wunderbar! Einfach wunderbar! She’ll be thrilled to hear it.” The older man turned to his other side, pulling open a top drawer to root around for something. “Now where did I--Ah!” With a triumphant smile, the Medic turned back to hand Sniper a small mobile phone. 

The Australian held out his hand for the device, which was silently dropped into his waiting palm. It looked rather sturdy and needed to be flipped open, it also looked like an actual phone rather than a personal digital assistant or a slab of plastic and buttons, and it was in the team colors! 

“It’s an older model, but do not worry for ze durability, ze modifications... well you’ll see. It is customized to do all you will need. My Leibling is speed-dial one, und I am speed-dial two, you will know vhen we are calling by ze programmed tones.” He had an expectant look on his face. 

All Sniper could think was that he’d had stranger assignments before. “So, a company phone. Oi, could I give out me own number? Fer, ah, emergencies?” His family came to mind. 

Medic’s midnight blue eyes gazed at him from over the top of his wire-framed glasses. “Ask yourself this: Do you really want to give _zat_ number out?” 

“Ah...I ah see yer point there.” He quietly pocketed the phone, the weight settling comfortably against the outside of his upper thigh. A nod was his only answer before the medicine man went back to poking and prodding, and possibly cleaning his healing cannon. 

While Sniper didn’t mind the quiet his mind inevitably wandered to one thought that had worked its way in, and now that he had the opportunity, refused to be ignored any longer. And considering he was doing the couple a favor, he felt just a little emboldened to ask. “So, I guess this means I can call you ‘Doctor Dick’ now?” 

Medic’s head actually snapped up at that, eyes just a little wide. 

Sniper shrugged, smirking. “It was catchy the first time we heard it. Made us both think of you.” Though he was very sure it was for highly different reasons. 

Medic blinked. 

Sniper continued smirking. 

Another blink, and the other man was able to cant his head to the side in a simultaneous combination of consideration and indignation. “My wife showed off her collection of artwork, ja? Particularly the ones involving wardrobe concepts?” 

The lanky hunter nodded, trying not to groan at the implications. There were a few directions this could go in, and he had to think of which was the most palatable. 

“You saw the assortment involving you?” 

“Bloody hell! Don’t tell me she’s gonna try an’ dress me up like that!” Maybe if he gave the phone back... 

“You didn’t balk at the kilt. A dress isn’t so different, herr ‘Candy Sniper’.” 

There was a bit of a pause, before an explosive, “W’UT!?” 

More laughter flooded the room, before the Germanic man tried to calm his irate teammate down. “Nein, nein; no, no you don’t have to dress the part! ...unless you’d like to, of course. Fair is fair after all but you can take zat up with her later. So If you’re going to be calling me ‘Doctor Dick’ from time to time, expect me to call you ‘Candy Sniper’ in return.” 

Sniper, feeling much more secure in his manhood than he was a few seconds ago gave a curt nod. “Right. Only you get to call me that, and the Misses. Maybe the Heavy, maybe. No one else on the team, not ah one ah them. And if that mangy lil’ hooligan’ tries callin’ me that, I’m sending him ta yer clinic with a goodnight kiss between the eyes.” 

“Of course. Sometimes you need to mix positive and negative reinforcement to teach animals proper behavior, and by the laws of transposition, the same should hold true for him.” 

“Agreed.” With that, he leaned back into the chair, crossing his arms behind his head for support. Off to his side he heard the Medic resume his maintenance work. 

A smile played over Sniper’s lips as he thought about all of the events leading up to where he was now. He had a paying job again, one that would let him continue freelancing with BLU on the side where he was challenged and could keep his skills sharp. He didn’t have to pack up and move, which oddly enough cheered him after a lifetime of nothing but moving from place to place following contracts. He’d get to spend his time off with a fantastic woman, where his job seemed to be as much ‘constant companion’ as ‘stalwart guardian’ (and compared to some of the current mess, that was a cake walk). 

But the best of all? After hearing the Doctor say it for months on end every time someone brought up the fact he was married, after trying to figure out why the older man never wanted to introduce the woman to the team when she was a delight to be around, and after keeping his own mouth closed about the little he knew of her, Sniper would finally be on the other side of what had become the Medic’s unofficial catch-phrase: 

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

 

~ Owari

  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [1] If you already know this band... You win at life. If you don’t know this band... it is German. It is club music. It is wildly inappropriate club music, unless one is listening to the fully instrumental versions. It is, effectively, sex set to music. With words. Sexy, graphic, English words. With German accents. And you all know the Medic enjoys every damn second of every damn song his wife has him listen to. And they laugh, knowing all of trance, techno, and just about everything musical in the ‘90s for USA came from this fucking band, because they changed vocalists at least 3 times. And when they changed vocalists, they REDID old songs sung by the old vocalists as well as making new ones. And when they released singles? Each single came with at least 3 remixes. I forget how many hours of music the whole discography is. But Medic’s wife (or rather, the cosplayer behind her) downloaded it. And then, she gave it to me, because my inner Sniper wanted it, and I wanted it too, and, holy fuck, ALL OF THE ‘90s! ALL OF THE ‘90s! And There Are Songs Today That I Can Trace The Beats And Rhythms Back To This Fucking Band! ... Yeah, no one tell Solly all of America’s best music was stolen from the Germans. Well, best recent music. Fo’ serious. Like, 300+ ‘different’ songs. Also? Apparently (my) Sniper says ‘E-Rotic’ as casually as he says ‘Jarate’. Blue Medic’s Wife says so, therefore, it is law.


End file.
